At first her seeking, excited eyes could make out nothing.

Then in a flash they perceived the figure of Wharton at the further end near the garden door, leaning against one of the windows.

He was apparently looking out at the moonlit house, and she caught the faint odour of a cigarette.
Her first instinct was to turn and fly.

But Wharton had seen her.

As he looked about him at the sound of her approach, the moon, which was just rounding the corner of the house, struck on her full, amid the shadows of the staircase, and she heard his exclamation.
Dignity--a natural pride--made her pause.